


Fix You Up

by syzygy_mellifluous



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Doctor/Patient, F/M, First Meetings, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26598088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syzygy_mellifluous/pseuds/syzygy_mellifluous
Summary: Winding up in the emergency room isn't fun, but it's certainly a bit easier to endure when there's a beautiful doctor taking care of you.
Relationships: Anna/Kristoff (Disney)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	Fix You Up

**Author's Note:**

> This is called “I’ve been re-watching way too much Grey’s Anatomy and I decided to write a completely self-indulgent/kind of ethically wrong but it doesn’t really matter because it’s fiction” fic based off of it. I’m not a doctor/nurse/medical professional of any type so I apologize if I got something wrong. Enjoy!!!

The last thing that Kristoff Bjorgman needed was to wind up in the emergency room. He hadn’t intended for the knife to slip and slice his finger open. But going to the hospital, getting through triage, and waiting in a white, sterile room to see a doctor made him re-evaluate his initial thoughts.

The last thing he _actually_ needed was a pretty, perky, red-headed doctor taking care of him. And yet, it was happening whether he liked it or not.

“Hi, Mr. B - ooh,” she laughed as she walked into his room, attempting to read his last name off of his chart. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, it’s just that they teach you how to pronounce words like ‘choledocholithiasis’ in medical school but they don’t teach us how to pronounce our patients’ last names.”

“Oh, it’s -”

“No, I think I got it. Bjorgman?” she raised an eyebrow. 

“Yup, that’s it,” he nodded, pursing his lips. She seemed _way_ too young to be a doctor; her hair was tied up in a high ponytail that bounced when she moved, and combined with the scrubs and white coat she was wearing, she looked like she was supposed to be trick-or-treating instead of practicing medicine. 

“Alright, Mr. Bjorgman, I’m Dr. Anna Andersen. What brings you in today?” She walked over to the sink and began to vigorously wash her hands.

“Apparently, I need stitches.”

She turned off the water and dried her hands with a paper towel before walking over to his side. She glanced down at his outstretched hand, inspecting the laceration for a few seconds. “I would say that I agree with your diagnosis. You definitely need a few stitches.”

“Fantastic,” he groaned.

“I’m sorry, I know this probably isn’t fun,” she frowned, grabbing a pair of gloves from the dispenser and snapping them on. “But we’ll try to get you out of here as quickly as possible.”

“I appreciate that.”

She sat down on the chair and rolled over to the side of his bed, inspecting his wound more closely. “How did this happen?”

He hesitated, and contemplated lying to her; maybe because he was certain that she’d laugh at him or think he was stupid for cutting himself open while chopping vegetables. He decided to tell the truth anyway. “I was cooking and the knife slipped.”

“Okay, do you mind if I -?” She motioned to his finger, a sense of relief washing over him; there was not a laugh or even a lip twitch in sight. 

“Go ahead.”

She gently placed her fingers on the area surrounding the cut. “Does this hurt at all?”

“Just a little,” he grimaced.

“I’m sorry,” she said, scrunching up her nose. “But you can feel my fingers, yes?”

“I can.”

“Good.” She rotated his hand, surveying the damage from all angles. “Are you able to bend your finger?”

He demonstrated for her, despite the fact that it hurt every time he moved it.

“And how long ago did this happen?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think how long it had taken him to stop the bleeding and get in the car and fill out all the paperwork. “Like, two hours ago.”

“Okay, and are you allergic to any medications or anesthetics?”

“No,” he sighed.

“Sorry for all the questions, it’s procedure. Are you currently taking any medications?”

He shook his head.

“Alright, last one. Do you remember how long ago you had your last tetanus shot?”

“I don’t.”

She gently placed his hand back on the tray, then stood up, pulled the gloves off, and threw them in the trash. “Well, the good news is that the edges aren’t jagged and this should heal very nicely with a few stitches. The bad news is that you won’t be able to bend your finger for a few days.”

“Great.”

“Now, I’ll be right back, I’m just going to get the stuff I need to fix your finger and a tetanus booster and then we’ll get you out of here.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” he said in a low voice.

She smiled before ducking out of the room. Though he had yet to see her put her actual skills to the test, he was impressed by her bedside manner; she was actually quite adorable. Perhaps he had judged her too quickly. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said when she returned a few minutes later, setting down the materials she’d need on the tray next to his hand. “Ready to go?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

She walked over to the sink and washed her hands again before putting on another pair of clean gloves. She sat back down in the chair next to his bed and scooted in as close as she could.

“Now, before I start stitching you up, I’m going to give you a local anesthetic so you won’t feel any pain,” she explained, as she pulled a syringe from a plastic package. “Speaking from experience, this will sting a bit.”

“Experience?” he questioned, furrowing his eyebrows together. “Like from your personal experience or what other people have told you?”

She filled it up with liquid from a tiny clear vial. “Both.”

“Do you warn all of your patients that it will hurt?”

“Only the ones I like,” she winked. “I’ll have to poke you a few times, okay?”

“Okay,” he nodded, and she began to anesthetize the area. She poked him once, and then again, and again. He gritted his teeth.

“Almost done, you’re doing great,” she said, noticing his discomfort. She poked him one last time. “Okay, the worst is over.”

She stood up and deposited the needle in the sharp materials box next to the bed before taking her seat once again. “In just a few minutes, you’ll be numb and I can start.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said that would sting,” he remarked.

“I also wasn’t kidding when I said I only warn the patients that I like,” she grinned. She had such a beautiful smile. “A lot of people come in here and try to undermine my medical experience. I don’t warn people who think they know it all.”

He immediately felt guilty for thinking she looked more prepared for Halloween than for being a doctor. “No offense, but you do look very young.”

“Because I _am_ young. I’m twenty-six,” she confessed with a shrug.

“They let you be a doctor that young? Not just you, but people in general.”

“Oh, yeah,” she laughed. “Medical school is only four years, and you’re officially a doctor when you graduate. Then you do a residency, which is what I’m doing right now, and that can be up to seven years. I’m still in my first year.”

“I didn’t know that,” he said. “That’s a lot of learning.”

“They don’t really advertise how many years of training you have to go through,” she said, tapping on his finger. “Can you feel that?”

“No.”

“Wonderful, now it’s time to party,” she announced. “First, I’m going to clean your wound with some saline solution.”

Though his finger was numbed, he could feel the sensation of the liquid trickling down his palm. 

“And now, I’m going to put some antibacterial liquid on your skin,” she explained, doing so as she spoke. “And I have to drape it with a sheet before I suture it…”

She unpacked the blue paper from it’s plastic package, and unfolded it. Conveniently, there was a hole right in the center. 

“Here,” she said, holding it up. “Slip your finger right through here, and...perfect!!”

“Do you always narrate what you’re doing for your patients?” he asked in a sincere tone. It was a genuine question.

“Yeah, it usually makes them feel better, but we can talk about something else if you want. Or, if you’d prefer me to be quiet, I can do that, too.”

In any other situation, he would have preferred the quiet, but she had a very appealing voice. “No, you can keep talking.”

“Good, I like talking,” she remarked with a smirk. She was now holding what looked like a pair of scissors in one hand and a pair of tweezers in the other. “You ready?”

“Yup.”

She leaned over his hand, which obstructed his view. “So you may feel the needle going in and out, but it shouldn’t hurt. There, did you feel that?”

“No, not at all.”

“Good,” she said. “So, what do you do for work?”

“I’m an engineer,” he answered, shortly. He didn’t want to bore her with the details. 

“Is that a job where you use your hands a lot?”

“Yeah, it is.”

She stopped what she was doing and turned to look at him, her bright, blue eyes nearly boring a hole into his own. “You’re either going to have to take a few days off from work or do something that _doesn’t_ involve your hands, okay? Doctors’ orders. You shouldn’t bend your finger or do any heavy lifting until the stitches come out because you don’t want to accidentally rip it open.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. “Fine.”

She turned away again and resumed what she was doing. “Did you drive yourself here or did someone give you a ride?”

“I drove myself.”

“Now, I don’t advocate for reckless driving and I would strongly recommend that you call someone to pick you up. You won’t be able to bend your finger around the wheel.”

“I don’t really have anyone that I can call, but I’ll be fine.”

“I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear that.”

Though he couldn’t see what she was doing, he could see the concentration on her face. She was so close that he could practically count the freckles that were scattered across her nose and cheeks. “So, uh, why did you become a doctor?”

She chuckled. “That’s a bit of a loaded question, but it’s practically a family business. My parents were doctors, my sister’s a doctor. I’m just following in their footsteps.”

“That’s cool that you can say that you all have the same career.”

“I suppose,” she said, her voice twinged with uncertainty. He wasn’t sure how to interpret her tone, but before he could even think about asking what she meant, she placed her tools down on the tray. “And just like that, you’re all stitched up.”

“That was fast,” he remarked as she removed the drape from around his finger. He was able to see it for the first time and counted six tiny knots.

“It isn’t really a time-consuming process,” she shrugged.

“Well, you did a really good job.”

“Thank you,” she blushed. “Now, I’m going to put some antibiotic ointment on it and then wrap it in gauze. You’ll have to keep it clean and dry for the first twenty-four hours. I’ll print you out some more detailed care instructions, but I’m going to recommend that you come back here in ten days to have them removed.”

“Gotcha.”

“Also, don’t rub any alcohol or hydrogen peroxide on it. And if you see _any_ signs of infection - swelling, pus, increase in pain - you can come back or you can make an appointment with your primary care physician.”

“Understood.”

“I just have to give you the tetanus booster and then I’ll get your discharge papers. Sound good?”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

She prepared the vaccine, then stood up and ripped open an alcohol pad. She lifted up the sleeve of his shirt and cleaned off a small area. “This shouldn’t hurt at all,” she said, before injecting the liquid into his body. Seconds later, she was pulling it out, covering the tiny wound with a bandage, and dropping the needle into the sharps container.

“That was a walk in the park compared to the other one,” he chuckled.

“Easy peasy,” she smiled, gathering up all of the items that needed to be discarded. She walked over the garbage, and tossed it away before removing her gloves. “You stay put, okay?”

“Okay,” he answered, inspecting his finger as soon as she left the room. There wasn’t much to see, since the wound was covered by gauze.

“Alright, so this is a bag of stuff to take care of your finger - a few single-use packets of ointment, some gauze, and some tape. You’ll have to stop by a drug store to get enough ointment to last you for the entire ten days, though.” She handed him the small plastic bag.

He nodded. “Alright.”

She shuffled through the papers before handing him on. “Those are the wound care instructions. Please try to follow them as best as you can. When it’s time for the stitches to come out, you can come back here or go to your regular healthcare provider, it’s up to you. And last but not least, these are your discharge papers. We just need you to sign this page and then you’re a free man.”

She placed the papers and a pen on the tray and pushed it closer to him. He signed them without hesitating and she took them back once he was finished.

“Do you have any questions?”

“No, I think you covered everything.”

She smiled. “Alright, then you’re free to go. Take care of yourself, Mr. Bjorgman.”

“Kristoff,” he corrected, holding out his hand for her.

She accepted, and shook it, keeping her eyes locked on his and allowing her fingers to linger for just a second when she pulled her hand back. “Be well, okay?”

Though he was free from the confines of the hospital, he felt almost as if he’d left a piece of himself there. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, for some reason. Not on the drive home, not when he was cleaning up the massacre in his kitchen, and not when he finally crawled into her bed that night but found himself unable to sleep. She was a beautiful, compassionate doctor and he was the idiot who showed up in her emergency room with a gaping hole in his finger. Remnants of their conversation played over and over again in his head, and though he didn’t know her at all, he found himself creating scenarios in his head where they would have the opportunity to meet again. He kept having to remind himself that she was only being so nice because she was a doctor.

As luck would have it, he would find himself back in the emergency room just two days later, for a rather unfortunate reason. Doubled over in pain, he spotted her in the hallway talking to a colleague as he was wheeled toward his room by an orderly. He couldn’t help but notice her eyes following where he was going until he couldn’t see her anymore, and he fervently hoped that she’d be the one to treat him, again.

She walked into his room shortly after, looking quite concerned. “Hey, what are you doing back here? Infection?”

“No,” he breathed. “I’m having really bad abdominal pains.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’ve been nauseous and I haven’t been able to keep anything down, and I have a fever. And the pain is _really_ bad. Do you think it could be appendicitis?”

“It could be, but they’ll have to run some tests on you to confirm,” she said, shoving her hands into the pocket of her coat.

“Are you the only doctor that works here?”

“It feels like that sometimes,” she remarked. “But I’m not your doctor today.”

His face fell. “You’re not?”

She shook her head. “I just saw you from the hallway and I wanted to see what was going on, make sure that you were okay.”

“I wish I could say that I was making this up just so I could see you again.”

“You know, you’re _really_ handsome and I like looking at you, but I’d prefer if we didn’t keep meeting like this.”

Feeling bold, he decided to press on. “What if we met somewhere else? Like a grocery store or a bar?”

She cocked her head, a smirk plastered across her face. “It would be a miracle because I don’t have a social life and I survive on takeout. I can't say I wouldn't like that, though.”

He laughed, but it only caused his pain to intensify and thus, remind him of the seriousness of the situation. He exhaled a few times through his mouth before speaking again. “What will happen if it is appendicitis?”

She sighed. “You’ll have to have surgery.”

“Oh,” he frowned. “When it rains, it pours, huh?”

She gently squeezed his arm. “We’ll take really good care of you.”

His memory got a little foggy after that; he remembered his actual doctor coming in, the nurse putting in an I.V., someone coming in and drawing his blood, and an ultrasound machine being wheeled into his room. He concluded that they must’ve given him some painkillers after that, because the next thing he remembered was waking up after surgery, the doctor telling him that it went well, and then promptly falling back to sleep. 

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he finally woke up.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” a soft voice asked. Suddenly, Dr. Andersen was by his side; she looked quite concerned and she was wearing normal clothes, not her scrubs or white coat.

He cleared his throat. “I’m okay.”

“Your surgery went really well,” she assured him. “You came in at just the perfect time.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to make sure that you were okay before I left for the night,” she explained, gently resting her hand on his arm. “Is there anything that I could get for you? Anyone I can call?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Thank you, though.”

“You’re welcome.” She gave him a small smile. “Get some rest, alright?”

“Wait,” he called, just as she was about to walk through the door. She obliged, and turned around. “They say lightning never strikes the same place twice. I’ve _never_ been to the emergency room in my entire life, and now I’ve been here twice in three days. That has to be some kind of coincidence, right?”

“Today was my last day on rotation for emergency medicine. I’m moving on to pediatrics.”

His eyebrows furrowed together. “Because of me?”

“No, not at all,” she assured him. “That’s just how being a first year resident works.”

“I don’t...” he trailed off.

“The reason I brought it up is because you were talking about coincidences,” she said, in a low voice.

Suddenly, it clicked. “That’s a pretty big one, huh?”

She nodded slowly. “I would say so.”

“So what does this mean?”

She walked back over to his bed, sat down on the edge of it, and dropped her bag on the floor. “I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t worried about you all day.”

No use in being anything but honest now. “I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t been thinking about you since the other day.”

“I may have been thinking about you, too,” she smirked. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean I can ask you on a date?”

“You may,” she blushed. “But only _after_ you recover from your surgery. Don’t forget that you’re supposed to spend the next couple of weeks recovering.”

“So I won’t be able to take you out for, like, three weeks?”

“Don’t forget that I work eighty hours a week, too,” she laughed. “But I’ll give you my phone number and you can text me as much as you want. I may not be able to answer right away, but I enjoy reading my messages on my breaks.”

“Deal,” he agreed and he recited his number to her, so she could text him and he could save it.

“You really should get some rest now, though,” she insisted, standing up and straightening his blankets. 

“You should really take your own advice.”

“I know, I know,” she rolled her eyes. She picked up her bag and slung the strap over her shoulder. “Have a good night, Kristoff.”

“You too...Anna,” he called. She beamed at him and as soon as she was out of sight, he found himself unable to control his own smile.


End file.
